Poker
by Jingle For Goldfish
Summary: Little Joe's early taste of gambling gets him into some very grown-up trouble.


_Hi, folks! Here's a new Bonanza story. This is going to be one of those cases where I know PRETTY MUCH what I want to happen, but we'll have to see if I can hold the idea down long enough for it to stop wriggling and give me a story. I think I'll be able to deliver something entertaining. Anyway, here's the first chapter. Enjoy!_

***

"Raise ya ten."

Joe Cartwright pursed his lips and squinted at his cards. Three aces. Not a bad hand, but the big man across the table had a smirk the size of Los Angeles under his graying handlebar mustache. The rest of the table was out. Joe swallowed hard. He was already twenty dollars into this game—and he _did_ have a decent hand...

"Call." He tossed in two five-dollar bills, praying that he'd get them back. He lay his cards face-up on the table. "Three aces."

The big man raised an eyebrow, then showed his hand. "Full house, tens over queens. Sorry, kid. Better luck next time."

Joe watched forlornly as his thirty dollars were dragged across the table. He had forty dollars left. He could still make a profit today. He just had to win a hand—and he had a feeling his luck was about to turn.

His friend Michael was on his right. They had been meeting on Saturdays for a couple of months, just for some whiskey and to relax. Today, though, Michael had told Joe to bring some extra cash, and they had taken two seats at the green-topped poker table.

Michael now shuffled the cards and began to deal. "Five-Card Draw," he announced. "Deuces wild. Jacks or better to open."

Joe picked up his cards and was pleasantly surprised to see two twos peeking out at him. That gave him three eights, with the eight of clubs, and a good chance at something better.

Joe pushed a five into the center of the table. The bid went around once. Everyone called.

Joe took two cards. His heart skipped a beat. They were the six and the nine of clubs. A straight flush. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he had no idea if he was succeeding. He drew the corners of his mouth down to keep himself from smiling.

He heard the saloon doors swing open, and who should walk in but his older brothers, Adam and Hoss. Joe tried to appear inconspicuous, but he was spotted right away.

"Joe!" Adam crossed the room in four strides. He leaned forward with both hands on the poker table. The three other men hid their cards and stared up at him, annoyed by the interruption, while Joe looked embarrassed.

"Adam," he said, "look, I'm already five dollars in—"

"You get out of here right now, Joe, do you hear me?"

"Just let me finish the hand."

"I said _now!"_

Joe gritted his teeth. "I. Can't."

"And why not?"

Joe glanced at his cards. A straight flush was the third best hand he could have. That didn't happen every day. "I can't, Adam, really," he said. "After this hand."

Adam came around the table and peered at Joe's hand. He gave his brother a look, then straightened up. "You know what?" he said. "Never mind. You stay here as long as you want to, little brother. Just don't expect a warm welcome when you drag your sorry hide home tonight. Come on, Hoss."

He pushed the doors open with such violent force that they slammed against the wall outside. Hoss looked uncomfortable by the scene they had created and slipped out after his brother.

At the poker table, Joe was beet-red under his hat. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered. "Five dollars." He slid the bill into the pile.

The man to his left was bald and wore a green bandana. He grinned, revealing one gold tooth. "After that display?" he said in a wheezing voice. "I fold."

Michael and the big man followed suit. Furious, Joe collected the pot—a measly fifteen dollars more than he'd had. His stupid brother had the worst timing in the world. Joe could really have struck it rich if he hadn't had to reveal how good his hand was.

But he _had_ won. And if he could win just another hand or two, he could still come out on top. He gathered the cards, shuffled, and began to deal.

"Seven-Card Stud," he said. "Deuces wild, jacks or better to open..."

***

The sun was setting on the Ponderosa when Joe finally trotted up to the ranch. He tied up his horse, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the front door.

Ben was standing by his desk, where Adam and Hoss were seated. All three heads turned when Joe walked in. He glanced briefly in their direction before making for the stairs.

"Joseph."

Joe stopped reluctantly and turned around.

Ben's expression was stern. "Where have you been?"

"In town."

"Doing what?"

Adam and Hoss weren't looking at him, but Joe could tell from their unnaturally still positions that they were listening quite intently. He shifted and stared at the ground.

"I said what were you doing, Joseph?"

"I was just at the saloon," he mumbled.

"Playing cards?"

Joe shrugged.

Ben approached him. "I asked you a question, Joseph Cartwright, and you can give me a straight answer," he said. His voice was cold. "Were you playing cards today?"

He obviously already knew the answer. Joe glared in the direction of his brothers, who were still looking pointedly away. "Yeah," he said. "So what if I was?"

"You're too young to be gambling. You know that."

"Pa, I ain't too young," said Joe. "There's boys younger'n me sit up at that bar all afternoon, bettin' on dice."

"We have rules in this household," said Ben. "One of them is no gambling until you're eighteen."

"I'm sixteen," said Joe. "Seventeen in the spring."

"And the spring after that, you can gamble to your heart's content," said Ben. "Not before."

"It's fer the best, Little Joe," Hoss piped up from the table. "Ya gotta learn to appreciate the value of a dollar."

"I can do that just fine!" Joe snapped. "And botha' you can just quit nosing around in all my business all the time!"

"Alright," said Ben. "Now look. How much did you lose today?"

Joe scowled. "Who says I lost anything?"

"How much did you win, then?"

Joe didn't answer right away. He scuffed his toe against the floor. "Well, how's a fella supposed to get any better if he ain't allowed to practice?"

"Will you please answer me, Joseph?"

Joe fidgeted for another moment. "I lost... ninety-five dollars."

Adam whistled under his breath. That put Joe over the edge.

"I was about to win it all back until _you_ came along!" he snarled. "I had the best hand at that table!"

Adam regarded him calmly. "I saw your cards," he said. "You had a pair of twos."

"Those were _wild!_ I had a straight _flush!_ I was going to clean them out, Adam, and you had to butt right in and _make_ me give away my hand!"

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place," said Adam.

"That's enough," said Ben.

Joe lurched forward. "And who're you, my pa? D'you know how embarrassing it was to get yelled at by my _brother?"_

Ben took Joe firmly by the arm. "I said that's _enough,_ Joseph."

Joe allowed himself to be restrained, still fuming. He wanted more than anything to take a swing at his brother, wipe that smug look off his face, but he knew his father would have none of that.

"Now," said Ben. "Your allowance is on hold until you've worked off those ninety-five dollars," he said. "At five dollars a day, that'll take just around three weeks."

Joe gaped. "Pa, that ain't fair!"

"You know you're not supposed to be gambling."

"But it's _my money!_ Why can't I do what I want with it?"

"Because I'm your father, and because the money comes from me," said Ben. "So I decide what gets done with it—and whether or not you continue to receive it."

Joe didn't have a response, so he just looked angry.

"You should count yourself lucky," said Ben. "You got off without a whipping this time. Don't think for one minute you'll get the same treatment if this happens again. Do you understand me, Joseph?"

Joe's face got hot. A whipping? At his age? The thought was mortifying. He didn't doubt his father would do it, either. "Yes, Pa," he said in a lower voice, trying to ignore the amusement on his brothers' faces.

"Good. Now go on to bed. You've got plenty of work ahead of you tomorrow."

Still glowering, Joe shuffled to the stairs. What was Michael going to say? There was no way they'd be able to meet in town next week. But how could he tell Michael it was because his _pa_ said he couldn't go? What kind of a baby was he, anyhow? He'd have to come up with another excuse. Grumbling to himself, Joe entered his room and started to get ready for bed.


End file.
